


Foliage

by hannigramcracker



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-01
Updated: 2013-10-22
Packaged: 2017-12-28 04:19:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 6,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/987577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannigramcracker/pseuds/hannigramcracker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is an October fic challenge that I'm planning to do this month! Drabbles, galore. I figured what better fandom to do a Halloween prompt challenge than Hannibal? I don't have any warnings yet, because I don't have everything planned out yet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Candy Apple

**Author's Note:**

> Basically what the summary says. An October fic challenge. I don't have any warnings yet, because I don't know what I'm doing for all of the prompts. I will put warnings on each chapter, if they need them.

_Candy Apple_

 

Halloween is Will's _favorite_ holiday. Absolute favorite. Even before Christmas, or Thanksgiving, or any of those holidays that ordinary people thought were important. Hannibal did not expect anything less of Will, his Will is far from ordinary.

However, walking into Will's house on the first day of October has Hannibal taken a bit off guard. It smells different, that is the first thing Hannibal notices upon walking up the front porch steps. He can still smell the dogs (each god forsaken one of them) and the familiar scent of Will, but there is something new here, something different. He isn't sure what it is until he opens the door. He sees Will, standing in his tiny excuse for a kitchen, dogs all sitting in a row in the wide doorway.

Will is surrounded by empty baking sheets, he is holding a large ceramic bowl in his arms and stirring its contents vigorously. On the counter in front of him is a bag that looks like it came from an apple orchard, green apples toppling out of the bag and littering the surface. Hannibal's chest swells at the sight of Will cooking, whatever this concoction is.

“Oh, hi, Hannibal!”

“Hello, William. What are you cooking?” Hannibal asks, passing the dogs and scratching a small one on the head.

“Well, I'm trying to make caramel, but it's sticky and harder than I remember it being. It always is.” Will answers, still furiously cranking a wooden spoon around the bowl. “I'm trying to make caramel apples. It's officially October!”

Hannibal smiles at Will and steps toward the counter. He takes an apple off the counter and bites into the supple skin of it, hearing the crack, feeling the thin membrane break beneath his teeth, puncture and explode into a juicy mass of sweet, tangy flavor. He tries to superimpose the taste of Will's skin and blood into the flesh of the apple. He sucks lightly, gathering all the juices before removing his mouth, preventing it from running down his chin. He is aware that Will is watching him, and Hannibal bites down again, making a show of it. He closes his eyes and bites into the already soft space, relishing the taste of the freshly picked apple. Hannibal opens his eyes again when he hears Will place the heavy bowl on the counter top.

Will is now looking at the thick brown substance, trying to decide if it met his standards. He lowers a finger into the substance and brings it back up, swirling it in the air and trying to break it from the sticky tail that attached it to the bowl. He places the finger directly into his mouth, not looking up at Hannibal. Hannibal watches the man taste his creation, his features moving thoughtfully.

“How is it?”

“I'm not sure...I think it's missing something.”

“May I taste?” Hannibal asks and Will gestures to the bowl and nudges it closer to Hannibal. Hannibal locks eyes with Will and loosely grips his wrist, dipping the same finger back into the caramel. Will gasps softly, confused, as Hannibal places the finger into his own mouth. He draws his lips around Will's top knuckle, slowly reaching his tongue out and around his finger nail and the soft pad of his finger tip. He takes Will's finger in his mouth a bit further, making sure to gather all of the caramel on the digit, then slides his mouth back up half way. He feels Will's knees weaken next to him and hears an apple fall and the dogs scatter as Will braces the counter for support. Hannibal takes Will's finger in his mouth completely, and slowly slides his lips up and away from the other man's hand, ending with a small kiss on Will's fingertip. Will looks at Hannibal, eyes wide, reeling.

“I do not think it is missing anything.”


	2. Haunted House

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's prompt is haunted house. I'm sorry if this is a bit shorter than yesterday's. I hope you still enjoy it!

_Haunted House_

Whenever someone died in a house, realtors tended to keep that information from potential home buyers to avoid the stigma of a “haunted house”.

To Will Graham, every house was haunted. He carried the haunting inside of him. Behind his eyes, every murder victim's story he studied had a place. Any set of four walls could be home to a splatter of blood that had been cleaned long ago; every ceiling held the echoes of a thousand screams. He was a vessel of the horror he saw felt every day, the horror that he let consume him, because he had no other choice.

Will once called Hannibal during the Hobbs case in the early hours of the morning, when most people are fast asleep, breathlessly telling him that he was convinced his house was haunted. He doesn't remember this conversation, but Hannibal does.

“You house is not haunted, Will. I promise.” Hannibal had said.

“No, it is. There are dead girls, everywhere.” Will insisted.

“There are not, Will. It is your mind.”

“You don't know, you're not here. I can see them. Can you come here? I don't want to stay here. It's haunted. I'm afraid.” Those words still circle around in Hannibal's head from time to time. The pure fear, delectable.

Hannibal had gone to Will's house, unable to resist the man in such a state, and as he had known, there were no dead girls. Will, however, remained unconvinced, and while apologizing, insisted that Hannibal take him to his house. Hannibal did take Will home with him, and Will awoke in the morning, confused and terrified, convinced he had shared a bed with another dead girl.

 

Any house Will Graham enters is a haunted house.


	3. Seance

Seance

 

Hannibal had decided this was going to be stupid, long before he had even set foot into Beverly's living room. Will had begged him to come, actually begged, and Hannibal could not say no to him, not when Will was accepting social interaction with open arms. Especially not when he used that voice on Hannibal. The one where he sounded like he might very well cry if Hannibal did not do what he was asking. Hannibal took his time being talked into this gathering, relishing the sound of Will's desperation. 

But as he walked in to the carpeted room (white, but dirty, Hannibal could tell where the furniture used to be in relation to where it was now, and could recommend a good carpet cleaner to Beverly later) and saw the psychic they were to be spending the evening with, he could have laughed. He almost did, but then Will greeted Beverly and Hannibal could see how excited he was. Hannibal reached out and shook Beverly's hand and she did a cursory introduction of the random group in the living room. It was the science team, and Jack, and some other friends of hers that neither Hannibal or Will had met before. It would not do to laugh and make a spectacle in front of a room full of people who did not know him, but may have heard of him. 

Will was tugging him toward the floor, into an empty space in the circle between Jack and the Jimmy Price. Beverly soon turned down the lights and sat between Jack and the psychic herself. The circle as filled with the light of candles situated on the floor and the psychic began to speak, her voice soft and thready, and the bangles on her wrists clanking every time she moved. She explained that everyone needed to hold hands and open their minds. 

“Your mind needs to be a clean slate, an open area, if we are to make contact with the next world. If anyone here has someone in the beyond that they do not want to have contact with, please remove yourself from the circle. This is a judgment free zone.”

Will snorted next to Hannibal and whispered, “Should I leave? I've seen my fair share of gruesome dead bodies.” Hannibal smirked and Jimmy Price guffawed. 

“Excuse me, your minds don't seem clean. Shall we try again? Everyone empty your mind, and do not be alarmed should anything happen.” 

Hannibal felt Will breathe out next to him, and then his breath was steady, his hands were steady. Will was completely still, and Hannibal was sure that he had never seen Will so calm before. He really was cleaning his mind. Hannibal couldn't say he was doing the same. His thoughts wandered, minutely fixating on any of the rude souls he had killed and eaten. The psychic made a soft sound and began chanting in a language that sounded to Hannibal like a derivative of Latin, with some variation to it. He listened to the not inelegant lilt of her voice and felt Will next to him, still calm and collected as anything. 

Hannibal's ears pricked as he heard something new in the psychic's voice. It sounded a bit like Lithuanian. He felt cold and hot all at once and his palms started to sweat. The back of his neck itched and he almost audibly gasped when he heard a small feminine voice that was very much unlike the psychic's.

“Hannibal? Hanni? Is that you?”   
Hannibal swallowed hard and closed his eyes tighter. 

“Hannibal, where are you?” 

His hand tightened against Will's. It took all of his strength to relax his hold from a bone-crushing grip. His chest constricted. The air was cold, like icicles thrust through his windpipe. He felt a twist in his gut and he knew he was trembling. Why was this happening? He knew these things were hoaxes, everyone there knew it. But...

“Hanni, please, I can't see you.” 

“Doctor Lecter,” the psychic's soft voice said. “You have a visitor. Please open your eyes. Do not let go of the hands that hold yours.” 

Hannibal could feel the carpet under his legs, he knew how wrinkled his trousers would be when he stood. 

“Doctor Lecter, open your eyes. It's okay.” 

Hannibal was not sure he could open his eyes at all, actually, but he knew he could not find the words to say so. So, he did the only thing he could and peeled his eyes open. And whatever breath was left in him left in quick, harsh gasp. He heaved forward, still grasping the hands he held. Will held on tighter, rubbed a thumb over the back of his sweat drenched hand. 

He saw her. Small, tiny. Beautiful. Astonishing. Pure blonde hair, strung up around and behind her like she was underwater and floating beneath the surface. She was pale, pale as death, pale as she was the last time he saw her. And god, it was just like the last time he saw her. Her eyes were so blue, so clear and so pristine, that he could not breathe. He saw the horrors they had both endured reflected in them, dirtying the crystal pool.

“Hannibal.” 

“Mischa...” he breathed, closing his eyes. He felt her hand lightly grace his shoulder. “I'm sorry.” He let a tear fall down his cheek and he could not bring himself to care. 

 

Next to him, Will cracked an eye. He saw Hannibal, leaned forward and weeping, but he saw nothing else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, all. I hope this went okay. I don't really know much about seances...or Mischa. So, I really hope this worked. If I can change anything to make it better, don't hesitate to let me know! Thank you so much for reading!


	4. Vampire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I've had a busy weekend, and whole next week is looking pretty busy, but I'm going to try very hard to keep up with this!

Vampire

 

The tang of blood sang through his taste buds: bright, warm, metallic. He let it wash over his tongue, licking it from the cracks and hollows of his teeth. Savoring it like a dark table wine washing down dinner. He bent toward the empty space between shoulder and neck and allowed his teeth – incisors sharp as knives – to puncture again, sucking deeply at the pristine ivory slashed and broken near the collar bone sticking out of paper thin skin.

He lapped at crimson rubies, leaving the skin blushing rose. He ran his tongue into the grooves and indents his teeth left, still sucking as the skin continued to weep. It was a heady concoction and he was drunk with it. Thick and sweet, salty, mixed with the taste of skin – it was no wonder it was something so tantalizing that sustained life.

Will groaned beneath him as Hannibal licked the wound, leaving behind saliva to help the blood clot. Will's hands were claws at his broad shoulders. Hannibal swallowed and then kissed Will deeply – forcing Will to taste the life that pumped through his veins.

A newspaper once described his crimes as being done by a vampire.

Hannibal could understand the appeal.


	5. Graveyard

Graveyard

Will sits, his back against a tall gravestone, one leg bent at the knee, the other straight in front of him, and tries (and fails) to keep the smile off his face. He watches Hannibal set and smooth out a blanket on the ground and relishes the way the layer of orange and red leaves crunch and crinkle with every movement. 

“Is something amusing you?” Hannibal asks, but there is a hint of a smile on his face as well, and Will knows him well enough to recognize the facial expression as a full on giddy grin. 

“No, I'm just happy that I convinced you to do this.” Will states simply. He thought it would be much harder to convince Hannibal to come on a picnic in an old cemetery, but Hannibal had said yes almost before the words were out of his mouth. He hadn't even needed to use the convincing speech he had prepared. 

“I'll admit I thought the idea was a little strange at first,” Hannibal admits as he pulls out tupperware containers filled with nothing less than an astonishing four course meal, picnic style. Will looks on, amused and unsurprised, he can't imagine Hannibal eating anything as inelegant as a hot dog or egg salad sandwich. “But, then I realized that I should allay my expectations when it comes to you.”

“I'm not sure if I'm supposed to be offended by that.” 

“You aren't.” Hannibal smiles pointedly at Will and pops off the top of one of the containers. He pulls a stack of paper plates from the bag and Will is surprised to see anything short of fine china.

“I like this place.” 

“Care to tell me why?”

“Are you trying to psychoanalyze me on our date, Hannibal?”

“I'm only curious. Will you tell me?”

“I don't know, really. I used to hang out in cemeteries a lot when I was a teenager, and I guess I never kicked the habit.” 

Hannibal nods and hands Will a plate. Will picks up a fork and is compelled to continue talking. “It's quiet here, but I'm not alone. I can be around people, and know that there are stories to be learned here, but I don't have to fight to keep the stories out of my mind. I don't have to try to actively not feel everything. It's calm. It's silent. I used to consider it the only place that I could be alone and be safe. And...I guess I like that.” 

Will puts a bite of food into his mouth and realizes he's been rambling. He fills his mouth hastily to keep more words from coming out. Hannibal takes a bite as well, and it is much more carefully weighted and elegant than Will's. Hannibal swallows and one side of his mouth quirks up.

“I thought that might be why. That makes a lot of sense. I am honored that you have brought me to your safe place.”


	6. Ouija Board

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know this one kind of sucks I couldn't think of anything good. When in doubt, Murder Family it out.

Ouija Board

 

Will's phone rang on the coffee table, rattling two empty mugs as it vibrated. Will unfolded himself from the couch and picked it off the table, answering it without looking at the caller ID first. 

“Hello?” 

“Will?” Abigail's voice greeted him. “Can you or Hannibal maybe come pick me up?”

“Yeah...yeah,” Will stood, adjusting his shirt and grabbing his jacket off the back of the couch, earning a questioning look from Hannibal who moved as though to stand as well. “Is everything alright?” 

“Yeah, it's okay. My friends are just assholes, that's all.” 

“What happened?” Will was looking for his keys and mouthing Abigail's name to answer Hannibal's unvoiced question.

“Nothing, really. We were playing with a Ouija board and they were messing with it. They made it say my dad was talking to me, and I'm not very happy.” Abigail's voice held an edge of anger and Will almost smiled. Of course she would react with anger. Will supposed he should get to the sleepover before it became the next massacre he would have to investigate. 

“Hannibal and I will be right over.” Will nodded to Hannibal who was standing and flashing keys in Will's direction, as his search attempts were coming up futile. 

“Thanks.” Abigail hung up. 

Will explained the situation to Hannibal in the short car ride on the way to Abigail's friend's house. Hannibal nodded but said nothing until they pulled into the drive way. He took the keys out of the ignition and handed them to Will. 

“Take Abigail home. I will return shortly. I shouldn't be long.”

“Hannibal...?”

“These girls were very rude, Will. They must learn their lesson along with everyone else.” 

“You can't kill Abigial's friends, Hannibal.”

“Allow me to worry about it. You get Abigail home.” 

Will shook his head, mumbling consent and ringing the doorbell. 

“I thought Hannibal was coming?” Abigail asked once she was buckled into the front seat of the car.

“Uh, yeah. He did. He said he would be home soon, don't worry about it.” 

~ ~

Hannibal stood by the window of the darkened living room and waited. He could smell the four girls inside, bursting with nervous energy. He knew they were getting ready to play with the board again, and he knew that was going to be his chance. He was still unsure what he was planning to do, but he knew he had to make a decision soon, because he could hear one of the girls shuffle forward and he knew she was placing her hands on the board. 

“Is there anyone there?” she asked in a small voice.

“Yes.” Hannibal hissed from outside the window.


	7. Costume

Costume

Will could not imagine Hannibal in a Halloween costume, but he wanted to. And he needed to, because the two of them got invited to a Halloween party at the BAU that promised to be lame, but that Will wanted to go to all the same. Will himself was going as a lumberjack. A bit lame, possibly, but the most practical because of all the plaid he already owned. 

But he knew that Hannibal had not picked out a costume yet, and he also knew that Brian Zeller was very serious about his costume parties. Since he was the one throwing it, Will knew that no one would be allowed in without a costume. 

Hannibal had tried to tell Will he would wear a lab coat and go as a doctor. But Will shut that down immediately. (“Hannibal, you already are a doctor, you can't go as a doctor.”) Hannibal had laughed at that and sighed. Will was left to try to think of a better idea, but he found that he could not imagine Hannibal wearing anything outside of his well-tailored, perfectly ironed suits. This notion was absurd – he had seen Hannibal in other things (and in nothing, but that's not what was important here), but nothing else seemed right. To Will, Hannibal's suits were a costume, and they were perfectly attuned to his character. Hannibal was nothing if not lavish and precise, and his suits were a reflection of that. He jokingly entertained the idea of suggesting Hannibal go in sweatpants or pajamas – dress up as a normal person, but he didn't think Hannibal would find the humor in that like he did. 

Will suggested Dracula, Hannibal made a face.

Will did not suggest a priest, because he did not want to imagine Hannibal wearing a clerical collar...

Will suggested a zombie, Hannibal had an aversion to wearing so much makeup.

Will did not suggest a cowboy, because he did not want to imagine Hannibal in a cowboy hat and leather boots with spurs, and especially a whip...

Will suggested the devil, Hannibal shrugged and said he could think about that. 

Will did not suggest a fire fighter, because he did not want to think about Hannibal shirtless and putting out his fire...

Will suggested a pirate, Hannibal looked thoughtful for a moment, and said he might have an idea.

A few days later, Hannibal came home with bags from the costume store. He spread his items out on the kitchen counter and invited Will to look them over. Among the items was a blue jumpsuit with a white handkerchief to tie around the neck. There were a few patches that Hannibal would have to sew on in addition to a small folded rectangular hat. 

“A member of the 1950's Navy. I'll have to slick back my hair.”

Will could not wait.


	8. Spandex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a kind of continuation of the last one. Not too much of it depends on the last though. This chapter gets semi-sexual. Is there really another way to write for a prompt of the word spandex?

Spandex

Will had gone to Brian's party as a lumberjack, and everyone had thought it was cute. Brian himself had dressed a Beetlejuice – complete with facepaint and a wig. No one had expected anything less from him. Will was having a wonderful night, toting his plastic ax and appreciating everyone else's costumes, until Hannibal met up with him a bit into the night and whispered into his ear that he had picked up something at the costume store for him to wear later as a surprise. 

Will sits and waits on the edge of the bed in Hannibal's room for the man to come back now. Will is a bit more on the tipsy side of buzzed, and he is wearing nothing but his boxers as he wrings his hands in anticipation. Hannibal had told him to wait here while he went to retrieve the surprise he'd promised, so Will waits, as patiently as he can. 

Will starts when Hannibal opens the bedroom door again, a bottle of champagne in one hand, and the other tucked behind his back. “In the true spirit of Halloween,” Hannibal begins, his voice dripping with something decadent, “I am going to show you some of my tricks, and hopefully you'll get a treat.”

Hannibal hands Will the bottle of champagne and gestures for him to pop the cork. Will does so, his hands trembling slightly in anticipation of what the other man has planned for him. Hannibal draws Will's attention to a pair of flutes placed on the armoire in the corner. Will turns his back and pours the bubbling liquid, hearing Hannibal shuffling around behind him. When Will returns to the bed, he hands Hannibal a glass and Hannibal motions for Will to sit next to him. 

Hannibal takes a few sips in silence, and Will follows suit. He watches Hannibal as he savors all of the flavors that pass over his tongue, letting each bubble pop against his teeth before swallowing. 

“Would you like to know what I got for you? I do hope you'll like it.” 

Will nods, he can't seem to find his voice. Hannibal smiles and reaches behind him. Then, his hands are around Will's neck, deftly attaching something cold and tight, but not entirely unpleasant feeling. Hannibal's grin widens. “Good, it fits.” 

Will's hands raise to the collar around his neck and he slips one finger underneath the leather band. He can feel his pulse in the sharp point between his collarbones. Another finger gets caught in a metal ring located in the center. Will swallows, and he feels it reverberate through the collar. He looks to Hannibal in confusion, who is still smiling and reaches behind him again.

“Please stand and take off your boxers. Put these on instead.” Hannibal hands him a pair of shorts that feel light but constricting. Will does as he is told, a kind of terrified excitement vibrating through his being. His hands are trembling as he steps into the black fabric and coaxes it up his legs. It is tight. Spandex. Will feels self conscious of how much of him these shorts leave exposed. He bends forward slightly. 

“Stand straight.” Will does as Hannibal says, though the command was softly spoken. “William, is this something you are interested in pursuing?” 

“What does that mean?”

“Will you be my submissive?”   
Will swallows and his eyes grow wider than Hannibal thought possible. The shorts grow tighter than they were a moment ago. 

“Am I to take that as a yes?” 

“Y-yes.” Will nods. This is what he wants. He knows that. 

“Good. In that case, we will need to come up with a safeword.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry.


	9. Mask

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter continues on the same path of the last two... And there is definitely smut in here. So, be warned.

Mask

 

Will is now tied to the bed, writhing with need. Everything happened so quickly – the time between putting on the spandex from Hannibal, getting into bed, and getting attached to the bed is a complete blur. Will's ankles are tied to the bedposts at the foot of the bed, and his wrists to those on the headboard. There is a fine chain wrapped around the loop on the front of the collar and also around Hannibal's forearm. Hannibal tugs on it from time to time, yanking Will up by the back of the neck, bringing him closer and closer to the edge, but forcing him to fall back each and every time. 

Will's eyes were wide, blood shot, his mouth opens and closes with half formed pleas. His fingers grasp at nothing, his knuckles crack as his fingers close around his empty palms. He imagines grasping at Hannibal's shoulders, his sides, his hair. He imagines grasping at himself, at his own aching hardness that Hannibal is simultaneously doting with attention and neglecting in all the best ways. 

The muscles in the back of his thighs clench and he tries to raise himself from the mattress, but the restraints keep him in place. Hannibal shushes him and runs his hands down the bare torso beneath him that shines with sweat. Will is not aware that he was moaning. His tongue flicks out and he sucks his bottom lip into his mouth and bites down on it. He feels the heat pulsing and throbbing through his body, through his veins, pooling in his stomach, collecting deliciously. He curls his toes, he can feel every nerve bunching and bundling, coiling and waiting for permission to relax, to release. 

He bites out something between a gasp and a groan as his skin breaks out in goosebumps and shiver after shiver travels down his spine. He bends his arms against his bonds again. Hannibal tightens his grip on the chain, bringing Will to a sitting a position. His muscles strain against the ropes that tie him, making the muscles in his shoulders work overtime. He stares into Hannibal's steely eyes, his mouth opening. Hannibal reaches out and drags a thumb over the broken blood vessels in Will's bottom lip. Hannibal then reaches behind Will and underneath a pillow. His hands come back with what looks like a small face mask. Will looks at Hannibal with confusion in his eyes, before Hannibal puts the mask over his eyes and he is surrounded in blackness. 

“Hanni-”

He is cut off by Hannibal's tongue in his mouth and fingernails being dragged down the sides of his torso. He half-screams into Hannibal's mouth, but the sound is muffled. He scrunches his back and Hannibal reaches beneath him and slaps him on the ass. Will grunts and Hannibal smiles even though he knows Will cannot see him. Will tries to break from the kiss, almost gasping for breath, but Hannibal does not allow it. He presses into Will harder, pulling up on the chain while also pressing down on Will's jugular with the soft flesh between his thumb and forefinger. Will's adam's apple bobs beneath the pressure and Hannibal reaches down between Will's legs. Hannibal can sense Will's eyes widening beneath the mask as he lets up on his throat, only slightly. Hannibal backs away from Will's lips minutely, allowing Will to gasp and moan and whisper a litany of curses and Hannibal's own name.

Hannibal slides his tongue out of his mouth and traces the contours of Will's lips with it. 

“Taip, mano meile.” Hannibal whispers, the words come out more guttural than he intended. Will shudders beneath him and gasps and chokes slightly and warmth is spread across Hannibal's stomach, spilling onto Will's own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Am I sorry? 
> 
>  
> 
> (Translation is through google translate, so sorry for inaccuracies. All it says is "yes, my love.")


	10. Fog Machine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has nothing to do with the last few. Along with that, there is no smut this time!

Fog Machine

 

Fog spread across the floor, unfurling and fading away slowly like cigarette smoke, like the fraying edges of an old sweater. The clicking and whirring of the machine could be heard, but the machine itself could not be found to turn it off.

This crime scene was confusing enough without the addition of the fog. It was difficult for everyone – even Will – to tell what was real blood and what was fake painted-on blood. 

Will breathed in the scent of dry ice, heat, and cream makeup and closed his eyes. He focused, concentrated on the pendulum swinging. The girl's body first clean of blood, then standing and walking with her boyfriend (was it him? Was he the murderer?)

Will was hyper aware of his surroundings, he could not affix to the mind of the killer – there were too many options. He felt claustrophobic in the narrow hall, he could feel the presence of the rest of the FBI unit on the other sides of the thin walls and down the hall.

Will used to love haunted houses. He'd been planning to ask Hannibal to go with him to one – he had fun when he could walk quickly through the halls and laugh at the fake gore and costumes. But now, the smell of fresh blood was stifling, and Will couldn't look away from the fog that billowed and erased his own feet and traveled to enshroud the lifeless body of their roughly nineteen year old victim. The fog gave the illusion that she was floating peacefully on a cloud. 

“What a perverse resting place,” Will found himself thinking. “A final send off to peace from the middle of what was meant to be planned and controlled chaos.”


	11. Pumpkin

Pumpkin

 

Will had brought two huge pumpkins into his kitchen that afternoon. Hannibal had been prepared; he had spread out an old table cloth over the counter and covered that with even older sheets of newspapers. Will had offered to carve them at his house, since he knew how clean Hannibal kept his kitchen, but Hannibal had decided that course of action made no sense – he had many more knives in the wooden block in his kitchen than Will did. 

It turned out, though, that Will did not need any of his fancy, serrated knives. The younger man had come prepared with his own small set of carving utensils that he carried in a black bag with a worn zipper that told him it had been used for years. 

Hannibal had used one of his kitchen knives to cut the tops off the pumpkins – it was easier that way – and the two of them proceeded to remove the meat and seeds from the cavernous insides. Will started to throw away the stringy orange innards, before Hannibal stopped him, rolling up his shirtsleeves carefully. 

“I have recipe in mind that will be very palatable next to a cup of pumpkin soup,” he explained, dumping the sticky mess into a tupperware container. Will laughed and rolled his eyes.

“I would like to cook up the seeds as well, then.” 

“That can be arranged.”

Once that step was finished and the pumpkins were hallowed, each man set to work creating his own masterpiece. Will was opting for the tradition jack'o'lantern smile, it seemed. Hannibal watched him as he focused on cutting the triangular eyes, making sure they were evenly sized and distributed on the front of his canvas. Hannibal took note of the careful and sure strokes of the tiny cutting tool that Will was so accustomed to using. Hannibal noticed that Will had a certain amount of finesse and skill with that knife and felt a small twinge of regret settle within him at the fact that Will's skills would most likely never be used on the raw flesh of a human. 

Watching Will, while under the pretense of imagining what he was going to create within his own pumpkin, he imagined Will working with him side by side in the kitchen. Possibly not in the field, Hannibal would never want Will to become hurt or get caught in the crossfire of him and one of his victims, maybe once or twice, but Hannibal would not allow him to make a practice of it. No, what Will would help him cook. He could teach him how to tenderize and season, and how to tell what spices go with which meats. He could teach him how to pan fry things to succulent perfection. He could teach him the correct way to hold and use each knife in his block, and Will would be perfection. He would be Hannibal's best creation, his protege. 

Hannibal lost himself in his mind, and before he knew it, Will was standing back from the pumpkin, admiring it. He caught Hannibal looking at him and turned the pumpkin so he could see it. Will's smile matched the one cut into the pumpkin, all crooked and jagged edges, painted on and strained. 

“It looks wonderful.” Hannibal commended. 

“Hey, you haven't even started yours yet.”

“I seem to be lacking in ideas. It isn't very often that I carve pumpkins. Perhaps you can give me some assistance? Some pointers?”

“Wow, I never thought the world's most renowned chef wouldn't know how to carve a pumpkin.” 

“I can't do much with the outsides of it, Will.” Hannibal smirked gently and allowed Will to come over and make another childish face on his pumpkin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long to be up! Things have gotten a little crazy in my life. But, here we are.


	12. Ghosts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a follow up to the seance chapter.

Ghosts

 

Hannibal wakes; shaking, sweating, his silken sheets sticking to the hollows of his skin. If he could have possessed a moment of lucidity, he would have thought that this must be how Will feels every night. But, his mind is buzzing with events that just occurred behind his eyes. 

He leans forward, his breath heaving, and pulls his arms around his bare torso. His legs draw up, he is unconsciously making himself as small as he possibly can. A soft sob catches in his throat as the memory catches in his eyelashes. The memory of the party the night before, the memory of the tiny girl he had not seen in decades dancing before his eyes in all of her ethereal splendor.

He had forgotten, or so he thought, about her. Pushed away her memory with all of his might, suppressed it and manifested it in other things. But that party, the stupid seance, is all he needs for the memories of her to come rushing back.

He feels her ghost around him as he clings to himself in the darkness. He feels her tiny fingers playing with the fringe of his unkempt hair. He leans into the phantom touch and gasps when it is ripped away from quicker than he remembers. Her hands grope and grasp for his and he reaches back, but the attempts are just as futile now as they were all those years ago in the snow.

His room is freezing, he is only half clothed. He is still sweating, but it feels like the temperature has dropped and his off white sheets are piles of dirty snow. His eyes are clamped shut and he cannot tell if he is screaming or whispering his sister's name as she is taken from him and calls out to her older brother, the one who was supposed to protect her; the one who failed. 

Hannibal can't breathe. The world fades in and out around him and he can hear them drop her small body on the ground. He knows what is happening and even though he wants to cover his ears to block out the sound of the gunshot, he cannot. He deserves to hear this because this is his fault. 

He can hear them say that she will be one less mouth to feed, and he briefly considers ending his own life as well. He knows he cannot. He must avenge his sister's life in any way he possibly can. And he will find a way.

Has he found a way? Hannibal wonders to himself, whimpering softly yet consistently. Half of him is glad he insisted Will go home after the gathering, and the other half wishes he had someone to console him. 

He knows he does not deserve to be consoled. He does not deserve to be coddled or protected. He does not deserve this partially because he does not need it, and partially because he could not give security to his sister. 

She will forever be one less mouth to feed. He will never be able to fill enough mouths to reconcile with himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I don't really know much about the Mischa story line, but I did the best with what I currently know. And what can I say, I love emotional torment from past events in otherwise strong male character's lives. It's a huge weakness for me...


End file.
